Hope's Last Breath
by Thegunner18
Summary: Hope. That's what they said the walkers could never take from us. It's what they said was the one thing that could save us, but they didn't know what humanity had already become. In a world where every step you take is a risk to your life, follow the story of Lucas Carter - a British tourist in a world an ocean away from home - and his struggle to survive. Takes place during S2 E1.
1. Chapter 1

**Hope's Last Breath**

You know what they say about strength in numbers? Yeah, well, whoever said that was preaching bullshit. Being in a group is the last thing you want to do; too many uncertainties, too many unnecessary variables that get in the way of survival. Sure, you may be able to do things quicker, scour areas for supplies faster and all that, but at the end of the day each person you're with is just like a bottle of champagne; it only takes a bit of encouragement for their top to pop and you just don't know when it's going to happen or what is going to do it. That sort of thing is something you need to avoid in a world like this.

When life is balanced on a knife-edge, taking chances is pretty much a no-go. Being alone means you only need to take care of yourself, and you know exactly what your limits are. Reliance on others is never something you want to end up pinning all of your hopes on. If you make a mistake you deserve to die in this world.

At least, that's what I've learnt in these past…how long has it been now…18 months? Heh. I guess time has no real place here now. Just like a lot of things don't. Thankfully maps are still a thing. Never did trust satnavs all too much anyway. Ruined one of my family's holidays once. Took us bloody hours to get back on track. Car felt like it was going to melt, too. On the radio they said it was around 35 degrees Celsius. I think that took everyone by surprise. We were more used to getting a bit of a thorough soaking more than anything else. Not that any of that matters now, though. Anecdotes aren't helping me get out of North Carolina, and this rain isn't doing me nay good either. The sound of the brutal combination of wind and rain out here _does_ make sure my movements are as muffled as they can be, so that's always a nice thing.

Getting caught by groups of survivors is probably the thing I'm most afraid of these days. walkers? They're easy to suss out. Survivors are unpredictable. Dangerous. In fact, Savannah and its people were almost the death of me. Crawford was more perilous than I ever thought it would be. Bastards shot me in the right arm. Good thing that The Marsh House still wasn't ridden with zombies when I got there so that I could patch myself up. The people in that 'community' were more unrelenting than the damn walkers sometimes. My only hope is that they got what was coming to them. I took enough of their shit to keep me going for a good while, though: meds, food, ammunition…it's gonna be a while before they recuperate. Hopefully.

I brush the hair out of my eyes and grit my teeth as I trounce through the undergrowth. My gaze turns itself onto the river next to me; it's swollen to all hell. Falling in there is almost as much of a death trap as being locked in a room with walkers. Almost no way you're gonna be surviv-

"Kid, you are on my last fucking nerve!"

Survivors? What the hell is this? Why are they here in the middle of nowhere?

I reach for the revolver by my side before crouching down behind a thick wall of bushes, that particular sequence of actions now as natural as breathing. With bated breath, I slowly make my way forward, ever vigilant of any walking corpses heading my way. My attention soon lands on the one making the terrible racket. He looks like a typical bandit to me. Then again…everyone does these days. Who's this guy calling a kid, anyway? Any actual children would have died by now.

"Let GO of me!"

Oh, shit…that's a kid alright. A little girl. Who the heck would be attacking a girl?

I shake my head is disgust and raise the revolver. Whoever it is deserves to die. It's close enough to be at least a 70% headshot chance. With my index finger able to feel the deathly coldness of the steel trigger, I take one last look around and…No…no, no, no. FUCK! I fucking knew they would attract the walkers! No way am I going to be giving up my stealth advantage by risking the shot now. Even if I do land the shot, this place is going to be overrun with walkers any minute. Any chance of escape would be gone, and for what? A girl who I know nothing about? What if she's already bitten? Maybe…maybe that's why this guy's doing what he's doing…

I holster my weapon and take my crowbar out, deciding to use that to escape instead. This isn't a risk I can take. Not now. Perhaps it's not right, but…this is about survival, not heroism. I begin to back away, trying my best to shut out the sound of the girl's struggles. This isn't something I can get myself into. If there are more bandits nearby then I'm dead. It's a simple as that. I know how they work; they're merciless.

Before I take off downstream, I glance over my shoulder at the girl one more time, a walker now grabbing her by the arm. Her panicked state brings her eyes to lock with mine for a fleeting second. Words can't do justice to the look in those little girl's eyes. I don't think she's actually noticed me in this darkness, but the moment she looked in my direction lasts for what seems like an eternity.

I should be feeling something right about now. Guilt, anger, melancholy, regret..._something._ I feel nothing. This is normality now, though, isn't it? Death and destruction lies around every corner. Being upset is just…too much of a risk to survival. This is who we are now. This is how we survive. Survival of the fittest. The girl's survived this long already. She didn't do too bad all things considered.

It doesn't take too long for the woods to fall silent once again. Only the occasional moan or demonic snarl of the undead and the satisfying shatter of its skull that follows is what breaks the eerie silence of the night. My grip on the crowbar is still so tight that it feels as if my skin is going to bind with the metal. I relax just slightly, being careful to keep a wary eye on anything that might decide to shoot me, bite me, rob me or rip into me. I smile to myself at the thought. There's nothing out here now that just wants to be friends with you, is there? Well…not that I'd ever trust them if they wanted to be friends with me. Not after last time.

I shake my head, trying to focus on the here and the now. The past is gone and there's nothing that's going to change that. I'm still breathing, so I must be doing something right. Speaking of breathing….I've already been walking since I first got up today. It's about time that I hunkered down somewhere for a while. My death isn't going to come from me being tired, not after all I've done for myself so far. I'd never forgive myself for it. These sorts of woods usually have small huts and the like along their tracks. Nothing fancy, but they're safe for about 5 or 6 hours of sleep. Just clear out what's in them and don't make any noise; I'm sure that waking up to a walker in your room wouldn't be too thrilling. You couldn't buy a better alarm clock than that, though.

* * *

It's been too long since I've been able rest with the peace of mind that zombies weren't going to abruptly end my stay in the land of the living, and that didn't change last night. Traps can only do so much and travelling alone means you need to travel light. These days, though, every step you take is a potential risk to your life. The only true defence I have against anything is silence and stealth. Get in, take what you need, get out, move on. Staying in one place for too long is just a long term death sentence, be it from bandits or walkers. I have no regrets about taking from those people who do that, no matter who is in their group. Out of sight, out of mind. That's what it takes to survive now. Before this had all started I would have been disgusted with my present self, but if I hadn't changed I would be dead.

It's places like these that pain me the most. The places that remind me of what it was like before. Rusted vehicles, unpacked belongings and shredded tents; it's the world in a nutshell. Photos of happy families…that's an alien prospect to everyone now. Not something I'd like to dwell on, either. Whoever this family was doesn't matter anymore.

Without too much of a care, I place the ragged and worn picture back into the cardboard box I found it in face down among the other abandoned pieces of junk. I turn my attention onto the rest of the camp, crowbar held loosely in my hand. There's probably nothing of worth here, anyway. It's likely already been looted to all hell. I'm here now, though, so I might as well look around while I can. I move around the perimeter of the camp, ensuring that I don't glean over anything whatsoever. It's the little things that make the difference now. Passing up any sort of supplies is insanity.

As expected, nothing comes of the search. Nothing other than empty cans, the smell of rotting food and…rotten flesh. It's never something someone can get used to, but, y'know…it's always a nice bit of motivation to keep on living. This poor sod tied to a tree? This would've been me if I was still the same person as I was in the first few weeks of the outbreak. I've seen people turn right in front of my eyes. There is no worse fate. Just seeing their personality drain right out of their body is heart-wrenching.

I crouch down just a couple of metres away from the walker. It doesn't look like he's been disturbed for a fucking age. I mean, damn, he still has the knife he must've used to try and cut the arm off lodged into his shoulder. Its snarls grow more vicious as the seconds pass; its outstretched arms are nowhere near close enough to worry me. Makes me wonder how long it's been here. No one's taken the knife, yet. Maybe people haven't passed through here in a while. That or they didn't have the balls to kill it. No matter.

In a flash, the walker's body turns limp and its skull caves in. I yank the crowbar out of the mass of rotting tissue inside its head. Crimson-coloured blood coats the bark of the tree and the ground underneath the corpse. I take the knife from its arm, slightly disappointed at just how small the blade is. My penchant for weapons that can destroy a head within mere moments still hasn't been lost after all these years.

Wiping both weapons clean on my trousers, I swiftly take off down the track leading out of the camp. The less time spent here, the better. I may have bagged myself a walker kill and not-so-shiny new weapon, but that isn't shit if I get caught by bandits. One brief compass check and I'm set. As long as I'm heading north I'm happy. Before yesterday night it'd been at least a week since I'd ran into other survivors or had a near-death scenario. The perks of the countryside, eh?

In all honesty, I never was a city guy. Sure, all the decent jobs and events were in London and those sorts of places, but they were just so packed with people that it never appealed to me. I suppose the walkers did thin out the crowd quite a bit, huh? The selfish bastards kept the space for themselves, though…Now they want to take over the damn countryside, too! If I didn't know that they were walking corpses then I'd say that they were some kind of crazy environmentalists or something. Can't get rid of them even in the zombie apocalypse and…wait, what the hell…? Ah, shit. Me and my fucking mouth.

Walkers. Where the fuck did they all come from? This is A-grade bullshit right here. Karma was never this much of bitch. Time to run the fuck away, I guess. Ah, this sucks. Cross-country running never was my forte. Then again, you don't exactly have to be Usain Bolt to outrun these piles of rotting flesh and guts. They're called what they are for a reason. I take one last look around and the sudden amassing of the undead, grimacing at one in particular. I haven't seen an undead child since Savannah. The sight never ceases to penetrate so deeply into my heart. I'd be…I'd be…

The fuck?

I unholster my revolver, firing a shot at one of the walkers nearest to me clean through the head. That isn't a zombie. It's the same girl from yesterday.

I dart forward, quickly covering the short distance between us before sweeping her up and dashing straight out of the clutches of the walkers in one clean movement. I've never been so thankful for tunnel vision in my life. My legs don't stop moving until I hear nothing but the sound of my boots crunching twigs and flattening the grass beneath me. A brief glance over my shoulder brings no threats to the fore. It takes a few moments for the weight of the kid I'm carrying to become apparent to the muscles in my arms. My eyes shoot wide open in shock as I take another look down into my arms. What the fuck am I doing? Now the fate of this girl's on my ass. Just a bloody liabi-

"You-you can put me down now…I can…I can walk just fine."

This is…ah, this is a terrible idea…

"You talk the talk, but you can't walk the walk. Literally." I continue to move forward, aware of the girl's tired yet defiant stare as much as I'm aware of the sun on my face. I ignore it as best I can. Having her on my books doesn't change anything. Well…other than the fact that the length of time my supplies are gonna last has been cut in half. And I'm constantly going to need to keep one eye on her…

I sigh to myself in exasperation. She must have been with a group to get this far. A kid her age wouldn't have survived on her own through this. They'll be searching for her if they really wanted to protect her, but I'd imagine that they wouldn't want any trouble if they were the sorts of people looking after children.

"So…how did you get here, er..." It only just occurs to me that I don't actually know her name.

"Clementine."

"…Clementine. Kids don't make it far without help."

"I'm not a kid."

"Is that so?" I raise my eyebrows in amusement and smile. "What are you, then?"

"A survivor." She answers firmly, if not somewhat solemnly. "There are no kids or men or women in the world today. There are no strong or weak. There are only survivors." Silence invades the air for a moment or two. Honestly, I have to agree with her there. It's just…not something I'd imagine someone her age to be saying. Then again, a lot has changed since the time of the internet and all-you-can-eat buffets.

"Can't disagree. How'd you survive so long, though? Not seen someone your age in bloody ages."

"I was…with…a group." Clementine replies. She's clearly not feeling too good, and that's a worry. I'd better ask her a few questions before moving on. Her group seems like a good place to start. Doesn't sound like she's with them anymore if her use of the past tense is anything to go by.

"Was? What happened?"

"We…we got to Savannah to try and find a boat, but it didn't work."

"Such is the way of life now." I answer heavy-heartedly. She doesn't need to say anymore for me to understand what happened. Savannah is a death-trap. I just hope Crawford didn't get them. "You with anyone at the moment? Savannah's a long way away now."

"I was with one person, but we got attacked by bandits. We got separated yesterday."

Damn, this girl has had it rough. Probably isn't something she wants to talk about. Not right now. Right now it looks like she just wants to rest.

"How're you feeling?"

"Horrible. I got bitten by a dog and it…really…really hurts."

I tense up for a second, but relax immediately afterwards. For a second there I swear my heart was in my mouth. In fact, it still kind of is. Dogs aren't exactly commonplace. And we've just met. If she's lying…

"Let me see it, Clementine." I place her down against a nearby tree before crouching down to her level and slipping my rucksack off my shoulders. I glance up at her as I unzip the main compartment. She gazes back at me anxiously. It doesn't take a lot to convince her to work with me. Just one look of reassurance and she's rolling her bloodied sleeve up, albeit with gritted teeth and a pained grimace. What she reveals is worse than I'd imagined.

"You're tough, I'll give you that."

"I need to be tough now." The girl says, her voice as weary as her body.

I nod lightly in agreement, reaching out to carefully take her forearm in my hands. A sigh of relief almost immediately leaves my mouth.

"Well, it isn't a walker bite, I'll give you that. Walker bites don't have that sort of shape." I examine the laceration for a few moments more until I'm pretty damn certain that no walker could have done that. I put my hand on her shoulder and shoot her a smile. "I'll get you fixed up. It'll hurt a little bit, but that's no problem. I know you'll deal with it just fine."

"You sound different."

"Different?" I tilt my head in surprise at the sudden change in subject. "I'm from Britain, if that's what you mean." I say nonchalantly, beginning to root around in my rucksack for my medical supplies. "I was on holiday in Florida. Me and a few of my mates. Great timing, eh? I knew there was gonna be a catch to that fuckin' economy flight…"

"Mates?"

"Eh, British slang for friends. You can take the man out of Britain, but you can't take the Britain out of the man. If you're going to be staying with me then you'll need to get used to it."

Ah, shit. I'm already getting soft. I pretty much just offered her the chance to stay with me long term.

"The name's Lucas Carter, by the way." I reach down into the depths of the bag, pulling out a small box containing a syringe of morphine. I was hoping not to have to use this for a while, but…it doesn't matter now.

"Lu-Lucas Carter!? I know you. Christa and Omid were friends with you. They told me about you."

I…I don't…what?

"Omid? Christa? Shit…they're alive?"

"I-"

"Hey, now! You two over there! We don't want no trouble so just stay calm! We were out hunting when we heard a gunshot so we came running."

I turn to my left and my whole body freezes in fear. Two men come running down the hill, weapons in hand. The younger of the two is carrying a machete, the older man with the crossbow. My eyes meet Clementine's again for a brief moment before returning to the two strangers. She's just as afraid as I am.

"Yeah, we're just worried is all. I mean we got a group to protect. You ain't bandits or anything are ya?"

"Come on, Luke, you really think bandits would be travelling with kids?"

"I'm just patching her up. She got bitten by a dog and-"

"A dog? I ain't seen a dog 'round these parts for god knows how long." The older man cuts me off, stepping closer to get a better look.

"I've been surviving out here alone for the past year. I think I know what I'm bloody talking about." I chastise, giving the pair an icy cold stare.

"Well look, if you're alone then you can come over to our cabin and we'll get her all fixed up in no time. We have a doctor. He can take a look at it, make sure you're not makin' a mistake with that wound."

"Yeah, you can even stay with us during the time the injury takes to heal up. It's safe where we are. Walkers got no chance of storming the place." The young man, presumably Luke, says to us, glancing back and forth between Clementine and I. He seems to be about my age, actually.

"Nowhere's safe forever..." I mutter under my breath, out of earshot of the two newcomers. Clementine hears it, though, and she gives me an understanding look. At least she isn't stupid…

"Whatd'ya say? If ya don't like it then you've got no obligation to stay." The crossbow-wielding man inquires, taking a friendlier stance. Though that could mean anything…

"Clementine? You wanna take them up on their offer?" I ask.

"I say we go with them. They might know about Christa." She remarks hopefully, a glint of happiness in her eyes.

"Alright…If we can find any info on Omid and Christa then it's worth it." I throw the box of morphine back into my bag and zip it shut, slinging it onto my shoulder. My attention turns back onto the two survivors. "There's a reason why I travel on my own. I don't trust groups. And I don't trust you, either. Not yet. Any funny business and I won't be best pleased."

"Well, looks like it's settled then. I'm Pete and this is Luke." Pete steps towards me and offers his hand for me to shake. I reluctantly comply after helping Clementine to her feet and taking her into my arms. He gestures for me to follow him.

"I said I can…urrgh…I said I can…I can walk." She whispers to me. I don't buy into it, and I won't no matter how hard she tries.

"Save what energy you have. You're going to need it later, alright, Clem?"

"Okay, Lucas, o-kay…"

Oh, this is such a bloody bad idea…


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Rebecca, please just calm down. This isn't helping anyone."

"I'm not going through this again, Pete! Not after what happened to Nick's-"

"-We don't need to be reminded about that!"

"Well if that's true then you'll know what the right thing to do is! We have to think of _ourselves_ for once! We can't keep catering to every stranger that walks past our home."

Y'know what? Screw her. I'm not standing for this bollocks any longer. Not while there's a girl standing out here in the cold with an injury that could get infected.

"Hey, why don't you just take it down a notch, lady?" I take an aggressive step in her direction. "If I was as dangerous as you're making me out to be then I wouldn't have been so diplomatic when Pete and Luke came along."

"You say she got bitten by a dog. How do we know you aren't lying?" The man who everyone seems to be saying is a doctor crosses his arms and gives me an untrustworthy glare.

"If it was a walker bite then you know what I would have already done." I glance down at Clementine, noticing her solemn body language as I say it. "I've only just met her. I only got to know that she's called Clementine about 20 bloody minutes ago." My teeth grit and clench a gloved hand in frustration. I match this Carlos' glare with venomous retaliation. Before I say anything else I manage to reel my emotions back into check, letting out an exasperated sigh. Their paranoia is understandable. They'd be fools if they didn't question my motives. I'd do exactly the same if I was in their position.

"You might have mistaken the bite for-"

"-No, no I didn't. I've seen more shit than you think. That includes walker bites. _Never_ have a seen a bite look anything like that. Never." I pause for a second. Carlos looks almost…offended to have been cut off like that. "Making a mistake out here means death. I'm still alive."

"Well then, maybe you're closer to death than you think, cos' you're makin' a mistake right here."

What the _fuck_ did she just say?

"Rebecca, stop! We've gotta give them a chance, don't we? I mean, hell, you all gave me a chance when I appeared. Why can't we do the same here?" Luke jumps to our defence in light of Rebecca's little…outburst. Pete does the same immediately afterwards.

"Look, all we have to do is be cautious. It ain't like we just stopped being able to take the necessary precautions." I give them both a grateful nod as well as a subtle smile.

"So have we just forgotten about Carver completely?" Rebecca asks.

"No we haven't, but I know the types of people who work for Carver." Pete takes another brief look at me. "He's not that type. And my bullshit detector ain't exactly lacking."

"Not only that, but Carver's group doesn't take kindly to children. I know that for a fact. It's why I'm so wary of them with Sarah…" Carlos falls silent for a second. He takes a long, hard look at both me and Clementine before seemingly coming to a conclusion. "If it was me and Sarah in this same position…" He turns away and sighs, running a hand through his hair. "We let them stay."

"Are you out of your goddamn _mind_, Ca-"

"-But on _ONE_ _CONDITION_." He abruptly cuts Rebecca off. My heart sinks a little. "For tonight, she stays in the shed until we can be absolutely sure of what Lucas here is saying." Clementine lets out a small cry of fear and shock, looking up to me for some sort of support.

"Have you even been listening to what I was saying? It is _not_ a bloody walker bite."

"Tomorrow morning is when we'll be sure."

"It's only going to get worse, and by tomorrow morning who knows how infected it might become. All because you left her out here to _die_." I snarl through gritted teeth.

"Don't try and guilt-trip me, Lucas. I'm doing what I'm doing for my own people. We simply cannot trust complete strangers; our medical supplies are getting low enough as it is, and I'm not going to risk those supplies on what could be a walker bite." I open my mouth to say something but think better of it. Just gotta go with it for now…as much as I despise seeing it happen. Carlos continues. "Luke, Nick, accompany the girl there. Lucas you can follow me. We need to talk."

"I'm staying with her."

"Lucas-"

"-It's not an option." I glare at everyone else in the group. "It's not just about my survival anymore. I knew what I was getting into when I saved her from those walkers. It's my responsibility to protect her now, no matter what. You aren't going to get in the way of that." Immediately, I turn away from them and begin walking towards Luke and Nick who were already partway to the shed with Clementine. It only takes a moment to reach the three of them. The rest of the group had already started making their way inside, Rebecca still complaining about something or other. Karma's not gonna be kind to that woman when it gets around to dealing with her, I can tell you that.

"So…you're British then?" Luke tries his best to break the awkward silence. "We hardly see other _American_ survivors these days, let alone from across the pond."

"Yeah, me and my...mates took a cheap flight over here for a holiday. I probably should have read the terms and conditions, y'know? I knew there must have been a reason for it being so cheap. Never would've guessed this is what the reason was." I smile softly, despite my conflicted feelings. I just decide to go along with it all, though. I'm pretty damn sure that Luke already agrees with me on Clem's situation, so I'd just be preaching to the one-man choir. Nick, on the other hand...I can't tell with him, yet. Honestly, it just seems as if he doesn't want any part of this. Can't blame him. Seeing him walking along with a rifle in his hands makes me bloody nervous; he looks far too shaky for this sort of thing.

"You reckon your health insurance covers zombie apocalypses?"

"Nah, you never manage to get anything off of them. There'll be something in the small print about this, I know it." I shrug nonchalantly. "I hope they got what was coming to them."

"You have any family back over there?"

"Yeah, mum and dad. Two brothers, as well. Both younger."

"Any kids of your own?"

"No, none."

"Girlfriend?"

"Kind of."

"Kinda?"

"I worked more than she probably liked. I was 25 at the time. She wanted a family. I didn't think the time was right."

"You know what happened to 'em?"

"I don't. For all I know, Britain could be absolutely fine. I don't trouble myself with the thought, though."

"Don't you miss it?"

"Miss what?" I ask, giving him a slightly puzzled look as I shove one of my hands casually into my trouser pocket.

"Y'know...the time when the dead _stayed_ in their graves when we put 'em in?"

"I, uh..." I sigh, staring into the distance for a moment. The shed's only just over there now. "...I don't like to think about that. It's just about getting through each day alive nowadays. You need to just let the past go."

"I know you might not miss it, but what did you actually do before all this? You said you enjoyed it. Not like it really matters anymore but-"

"-Look, I just don't want to talk about that, okay?" I assert, trying to end the conversation there. It looks like Luke opens his mouth to reply, but he quickly rescinds the thought. A good thing he did, too…

We stop at the door into the shed. Nick moves past us to unlock it. He opens it up to a flood of light which seems to wash it clean of any impurities. Sort of. It's still a shed, but...for a zombie apocalypse it's in pretty good shape. Staying in here overnight, though? Horrendous. No tea-making facilities. 2/10. Would not recommend.

Nick brings my stream of consciousness grinding to a halt as he coughs, gesturing to the shed to us. I glance at him for a second, not making much of the signal. He has a gun, though, and who knows how erratic he might be with it. I turn to Luke one last time.

"If there's one thing studying philosophy at school ever taught me it's that life is absurd. We just need to deal with it. That means not worrying about things you can't change. You can never let regret or sorrow win the psychological war. When that happens, it's over."

"How can you be so nonchalant about all this, man?"

Hm. I guess I am being a bit detached from the whole thing. Not like it's done me any harm. In fact it's saved my ass more times than I can count.

"Eh...it grows on you after a while, Nick. Early on I...considered just...sort of...flicking the switch off, y'know what I mean?" I solemnly mime out the action I'd just described with a wry smile. I glance down at Clementine and then back up to both Luke and Nick. She's probably seen too much messed up shit to not know what I mean, anyway. "But then I realised...it's how you react to the shit that gets tossed at you that defines you. Doing what I was considering...that wouldn't have solved anything. That's not a reaction to this world. That's submission." I fall silent for a couple of seconds, walking inside with Clementine before looking over my shoulder. "I hope your group is in the same boat."

As soon as the door shuts behind us an eerie silence begins to pervade throughout the wooden structure as if it had a mind of its own, the mind of a predator, closing in on its prey when they're at their most vulnerable. Only the footsteps of Nick and Luke were there to be heard. After a few moments even they begin to quieten down.

"Lucas, you have medical supplies. Can we please fix up my arm now?"

"I, uh...yeah sure thing." I take a second just to get a bearing of my surroundings before sliding the backpack down my arm and hauling it up onto the countertop in one swift movement. Can't do anything before making sure we're safe in here. In all honesty, I can't ever say that this place is actually completely 'safe', but for the moment it should be alright. As long as Clementine doesn't make too much noise when I'm stitching her up. Shouldn't be too bad. I'll give her some morphine. Hopefully then she won't feel much at all.

With the bag on the counter, I duck down underneath the counter, leaning my arms on my thighs. Maybe there's something here we can use for...something. Either that or I'll end up finding something terribly wrong with the shed.

Other than the fact that I'm still not going to be getting any caffeine any time soon, that is. I mean, seriously, that stuff was what I lived for. Kinda.

"I don't think we're going to find anything of use in here, Lucas..."

"Can't be certain of that." I reply, shrugging my shoulders slightly. "And anyway, I want to have the safety of mind that we'll be okay staying in here overnight. We might need another way out if things go to shit."

"Over there in the corner. I already found the weakest part of it." I turn to look in the direction in which she's pointing. "They must have needed to fix it up for some reason." She remarks. I smile softly and shake my head.

"If I'm not careful then you're going to outdo me, Clementine." I remark jokingly. "Whoever taught you how to survive this long did a damn good job, I'll give them that."

"Yeah…Yeah he did. He showed me how to use a gun when I was 8. I wouldn't have made it without him…" Her voice quietens down and she averts her gaze from me. I can still see her smiling just a little, though. He must have meant a lot to her. "And…you can call me Clem."

"Well it seems like he knew what he was doing, Clem." I resume my search of the shed for what useful odds and ends I can find. "Can you get the stuff out of my bag? Morphine, stitches, bandages and hydrogen peroxide. Should all be in the first little compartment." I say as I open up what seems like a sort of…fishing box of sorts. Nothing inside apart from some fishing line, though. Useless.

"Are these the stitches? Pol-ee…pol-ee-dee-oh…ah…pol-dee-oh…"

"Polydioxanone. Yeah, that's them." I chuckle at Clem's attempts to pronounce the chemical's name. Admittedly, I was just like that at her age…

"Hey, don't laugh! Why does it even have a name like that...?"

"Seems like people just want to make life difficult for us, doesn't it?" I crack a smile, my search leading me to the medium-sized crate that had immediately taken my attention the moment I stepped in here.

"That's so stupid."

"Oh, hey, I almost forgot. There's also this thing called dyatanine in there that I need you to get out. It's a light blue liquid. Should be in a small plastic bottle. I'll need another syringe for that, too."

"_Another _syringe?" Clem sighs. "I never did like this sort of thing…"

"I'm sorry, but I don't want to take any chances with your injury."

"I thought morphine was the painkiller. What does this do?"

"Dyatanine?" I remain silent for a couple of moments. "It's…just something that helps the body recover from the effects of morphine faster." I turn to look at Clem who pulls out the correct bottle. I nod at her, smiling softly. "I know it might seem like a lot, but after all you've been through you deserve better than to have some bloody feral dog undo all your hard work." I say. Satisfied that Clem feels reassured enough, I return to delving through the random crap in the box.

In it there are a ton of different pretty pointless tools, mainly for use with cars and other vehicles, it looks like. Tyre pumps, car jacks, spanners...all completely dust-ridden, of course. Not surprising; I haven't seen a working car in god knows how long. Same thing with boats. Everyone had the exact same idea when the shit hit the fan. It didn't work, though. Nothing much goes exactly as planned nowadays...

I run my index finger across the dulled metal of the spanner and the grime just rolls off, leaving a streak of shining silver juxtaposed against the rest of the dust-drowned tool. I place it back inside, leaning against the edge of the crate as my gaze rolls across the contents once again. Anything worth taking and they would have already brought it into their cabin. They've survived this long; they're not idiots.

"Hey, Clem. You find everything we need?"

"I-I..."

"Clem?" I turn around, hands in pockets. What's she-

-Oh for fuck's sake.

"I never told you to root around in my bloody personal belongings."

"I'm sorry, I-I didn't know how important they were to you!"

I step forward, violently snatching the creased, worn documents away from her grasp. She can't know. No one can know.

"How much of it did you read?"

"Lucas, please...I didn't mean-"

"-How. Much. Did. You. Read?" My voice far lower and chilling in tone than it had been for as long as I could remember.

"Only the bit about why you came to America..." She was clearly getting quite flustered and panicky in the heat of the moment. "...You weren't actually a tourist."

"No..." I take a deep breath to calm myself down. Anger isn't going to help me here. She's a kid. She just made a mistake. "...No I wasn't." My attention turns to the papers, although my thoughts begin to wander elsewhere.

"Why don't you want to tell anyone?"

"Because there's more to it than just the fact that I'm not who I said I was."

"I'm not going to judge you for who you were. I just care about who you are now. And you were the one who saved my life." She states assuredly. I draw my gaze away from the black ink, bringing Clementine into focus again.

"It's not something I can tell you right now."

"I'm not a kid anymore. I can handle myself and that means I can handle whatever you tell me."

"It's not up for debate, Clem." I shake my head slightly as I fold up the papers and shove them back into the bag.

"Then when will it be?"

"We have more important things to deal with, your health being one of them." I reply sternly, unwilling to go into any more detail about anything regarding those damn documents. Sometimes honesty is just not worth the consequences. You need to be careful when dealing with truth.

Zipping up the bag and placing it underneath the counter I take the syringe of morphine, gently tapping it to make sure no air bubbles are able to sneak into Clem's vein. She rolls up her sleeve, grimacing slightly at the sight of it. She doesn't make much more of it, though, probably just wanting to get the whole thing over and done with. Not that I blame her; the whole ordeal must have been pretty terrifying. In fact it probably still is. She's vulnerable like this, and in a walker-infested world you need to be at full strength as much as physically possible to have a fighting chance.

"This'll sting a little bit." I say. Clem sighs despondently in response, looking in the opposite direction as she presents the wrist of her wounded arm. I hear her sharply intake a breath of air as the needle penetrates the skin and the morphine is carefully injected into her bloodstream. In only a few moments, the needle is removed and I push a piece of cotton onto the site of the injection. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" She turns her head to look at me, allowing herself to give a brief smile. "Hold this cotton here for a bit and keep pressure on it. It'll stem the blood flow."

"I reeeeally hope the morphine works now." Clem takes the cotton from me, watching as I begin to thread the stitches through the needle.

"It'll work." I state assuredly, concentrating on my own work for the time being. I finish tying the knot in the stitch and put it down. I lean on the counter with both hands, staring down at the ground for a second, exhaling. "Do you trust me, Clem?"

"I, uhh...I…" Clem stammers, quite taken aback by the sheer suddenness of the question. I give a fleeting glance over in her direction. She stares at me; I imagine she's in a pretty bewildered state of mind. "I was told not to trust anyone I met anymore. Christa told me that, but…but you knew Omid and Christa. You were friends with them. They would _never_ trust bad people."

"You sure about that?"

"Of course I am. Why?"

"Oh…" I turn my attention to her. "…it's just sometimes people can make mistakes." I return back to the medical supplies again.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying-" I pause for a moment as I draw up the right amount of dyatanine from the small bottle into the syringe. "-that some people might not be who they say they are, and those people are dangerous." I put the full syringe carefully down onto the smooth surface

"Lucas…I trust you, okay? I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. No one who saves someone's life is a bad person." She replies adamantly. I stay silent for a second or two.

"Cheers, Clem."

"Er…Cheers?"

"A way of saying thanks in Britain. And just for the record, I do trust you Clem. I made a mistake earlier. I don't blame you for anything." I pick up the needle and stitches, stepping over to Clem. "Can you feel this?" I gently press the needle against her arm.

"Nope. It feels so weird…" She trails off, poking at the arm, pinching it every now and then.

"So you _can_ feel something?"

"Nooooo, it's just that I've never _had_ morphine before. It _feels_ weird because I _can't_ feel anything." She giggles quietly to herself, some of her words now beginning to become a little more slurred.

"Well I'd say that's a good thing, Clem." I respond relatively cheerfully. At least now I know the morphine's really kicked in. I just hope the euphoric, happy feelings she's having right now don't get too problematic. I'm pretty damn sure I did use the right amount of morphine. But anyway, it's heart-warming to see someone truly laughing and happy again, even if it is just a temporary façade. Clem's smile is…actually quite infectious, too. "Let's get this over and done with, shall we? You don't have to look."

"Pffffft…I'm not a _baby_, Lucas. I've seen worse. And I wanna see how good of a job you do!" She exclaims, a grin now plastered all over her face.

"Only if you promise to stay still, alright?"

"Sure thing, _dad_!"

Wait…what?

"Clem?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't think-" I interrupt myself, shaking my head in amusement. The delirium from morphine can be odd sometimes. "-Nevermind. Just don't move while I fix you up. You got that?"

"Okay, okay. _Maaan,_ you are pushy!"

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Clem."


End file.
